Normal Again
by Swishy Willow Wand
Summary: She wonders if Peeta is dead, if her father is alive. If everything she knows is a lie. "Daddy?" She is afraid to open her eyes again, doesn't know if opening them will ever be safe again. AU: A different kind of hijacking. Heavily inspired by the BtVS episode "Normal Again."
1. Chapter 1

A gigantic thanks to the wonderful bigbigbigday006, populardarling, alexabee, and 78bathsheba for holding my hand, listening to my ideas, and encouraging me to push this story to completion. Without them this story wouldn't be the same! (so you know who to blame if you hate it) And of course, thanks to jeniezee for taking time away from being a genius to be my beta/best friend/peanut butter — you rock!

. . .

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Hunger Games, _or the concepts borrowed from Joss Whedon's "Normal Again."

. . .

**Part 1**

The last thing she remembers is the sky falling apart; now she is flat on her back, naked except for a thin white gown, strapped to a cold metal table. Everything around her is so pristinely white she can't tell where the walls end and the ceiling begins.

She doesn't even realize she's crying until her chest heaves with a sob; all she wants is Peeta. She wonders how far away he is, if he's strapped down too. If he's surrounded by all white, imagining whispers in the air around him.

Or maybe he's dead. She hopes he's dead; she doesn't want him to be as terrified as she is right now.

A door opens — she freezes and closes her eyes. Maybe it will all go away. She hears several sets of footsteps echoing across the floor, getting closer and closer. Hushed whispers, the tinkling of glass, a soft swish of liquids moving.

Something cold and wet touches her arm, swiping across the sensitive skin in the crook of her elbow; a minute later, a sharp pinch. Something cold seeps into her veins.

"They'll be here for her soon, you know," a cool voice says. She wonders if they think she's asleep, or if it just doesn't matter anymore.

"He's counting on it."

Everything fades to black.

* * *

The last thing she remembers is a cold pinch. She is flat on her back, the familiar prick of sticks and rocks digs into her skin and the sounds of the woods echo in her ears. This can't be right. She can't trust it. She's in the Capitol, she's been captured, and Peeta—

Her name is being called from far away. "Katniss? _Katniss!_" A hand shakes her shoulder gently, but everything hurts. Her whole body feels splintered into pieces. She doesn't want to open her eyes, doesn't want to see what the Capitol has in store next. She just wants to die.

"Little bird! Wake up!" She knows that voice, that sweet name. She hasn't heard it in a long time.

And before she knows it, her gray eyes are open. Her father smiles down at her, worry written all over his face, tears on his face. He smoothes away the hair from her brow.

She had forgotten how beautiful her father was, and seeing him feels like coming home. "Daddy?" Her voice wavers; this is a crueler torture than she expected.

He swallows hard. "Oh, god, little bird. I was so worried about you. Are you — are you hurt? Is anything broken?"

She can feel the panic swelling up in her lungs, taking over her senses. "You're dead," she whispers, and his eyes go wide. "You're dead."

Her father shakes his head. His hands are still on her face; she feels them trembling. They are just as perfectly callused as she remembers. "Katniss? You — do you remember what happened? You fell out of a tree. We were hunting, and you…the branch snapped and you fell. I think you hit your head. Do you remember?"

Her eyes dart up above his head; a canopy of leaves sway in a warm summer breeze. She doesn't understand.

"Where's Peeta?" Her voice is quiet and frightened, and her father looks even more confused at the question.

"Peeta?"

She feels like screaming; all she wants is Peeta. She wants this torture to end. "Mellark. Peeta Mellark. Where is he, Daddy?" She knows he's not real, but she just wants him to answer.

Rutherford Everdeen's face falls, filled with concern. His hand travels to the back of her head and when he pulls away, his fingers are wet with blood.

"Peeta Mellark is dead, Katniss. He died in the 74th Hunger Games."

Before she can even cry out, everything fades to black.

* * *

The last thing she remembers is her father's face; she is flat on her back, propped up on what feels like a soft cot. Somewhere close by a machine beeps steadily. She wonders if Peeta is dead, if her father is alive. If everything she knows is a lie.

"Daddy?" She is afraid to open her eyes again, doesn't know if opening them will ever be safe again.

A gruff voice answers her. "Not quite." Before she even cracks her eyes open the scent of white liquor washes over her like a tidal wave and she doesn't know whether to sob or laugh. She thinks both would hurt too much.

"Haymitch." She turns her head and looks at him, surprised by his haggard appearance. They are in a small room. The ceiling is so low she thinks she could touch it if she tried. "Where are we?" Her voice cracks and he offers her a swig from his flask that she refuses.

"Hovercraft," he says tersely.

She knows there are other questions she should ask — her mother, Prim, Gale. The Quell, her dream of the white room, her father. Why they're on a hovercraft. But her mind is numb and empty and all she can think of is,

"Peeta," she asks. One word, a whisper. She would swear Haymitch smiles.

"Anxiously awaiting your arrival," he says with a roll of his eyes; something releases inside of her, an iron weight. _Peeta Mellark died in the 74__th__ Hunger Games. _She wonders what is true.

She knows she should talk to Haymitch, should tell him about her father and the Capitol, but she's afraid. So instead she sits there quietly, counting the rhythmic beeps of the machine beside her until sleep takes her once more.

* * *

The last thing she remembers is the low ceilings and dull roar of the hovercraft. Now her eyelids feel heavy; someone is holding her hand tightly. She feels her fingers twitch.

"Katniss?" The voice is quiet and soft and familiar, the one that she wants to hear more than almost anything else. She feels herself smile.

"Little duck?" Her eyes flutter open and there she is, golden and smiling hopefully at her, skinny fingers clutching her hand as if she never wants to let go. Her mouth feels dry and cottony, and her voice cracks when she speaks. "God, Prim, what's happening? I don't even — where are we? You wouldn't believe the dream I had, Dad was alive and Peeta was dead, the Quell—"

Prim's smile drops, her thin lips pursing with worry. She reaches forward and places her hand on Katniss's forehead. Prim's hand slips to the back of her head; Katniss is suddenly aware of a large bandage wrapped tightly around it. She looks up and notices her surroundings for the first time — home in District 12. Not her new home in Victor's Village, but the one she grew up in.

"Katniss," she says gently, "I think you hit your head really hard when you went hunting. Daddy said you fell from a tree. Do you remember?"

Katniss feels a lump form in the back of her throat, her whole body tensing with fear. "Prim — the last thing I remember is the hovercraft with Haymitch, and before that…" She swallows hard; suddenly her entire body hurts. "I remember waking up in the forest, but that, that wasn't real, it can't be. Dad died, remember? The mines, there was an explosion. I was eleven, and Mom—"

Prim shakes her head, eyes wide with concern. She reaches across her to the rickety bedside table and grabs the mortar and pestle sitting on it. "I think you hit your head harder than we thought," she whispers. Her eyebrows are crinkled far up on her forehead with worry. Prim grinds whatever herbs are in there hurriedly. "How do your stitches feel?"

For the first time in a long time, Katniss's eyes sting with tears. "Prim—" her voice is low and urgent. "I think the Capitol is doing something, I think — where's Peeta? _Please_ tell me where Peeta is."

Prim frowns; she is silent for a moment as reaches forward and unwraps the bandage on her sister's head. Katniss cringes when she sees the dried blood covering it.

"Peeta Mellark," Prim says quietly, gently dabbing the herbs on, "died in the 74th Hungers Games. He was reaped with Levy. Levy—" she shakes her head, "Levy died at the blood bath but Peeta made it all the way to the final two. It was the closest we've come in a long time, but he was killed by the boy from 2 at the last moment."

"No." Katniss leans forward, puts her hands over her eyes until everything goes black. "_You_ were reaped, and I volunteered in your place, and Peeta and I both won, don't you remember?" She feels tears slip between her fingers, and she swipes them away angrily.

"Katniss," Prim says, her voice gentle. "How could two people ever win the Hunger Games? That's not real."

The world spins — the last thing she sees before everything fades out is her mother walk in, humming a song she hasn't heard since her father died all those years ago.

* * *

Katniss wakes up feeling sick to her stomach, unable to open her eyes. All around her she hears soft whispers, the hum of machinery; the air smells slightly stale. She wonders what is real, where she is, who is alive and who is dead.

And all of a sudden, she can't breathe — the world spins and her chest heaves; her stomach turns but she can't move, not even when she begins to retch. She hears herself sobbing, but she still can't open her eyes.

There is a cold, familiar pinch at the crook in her arm.

Everything fades to black.

* * *

When she wakes again the whispers are gone; there is a weight on the bed beside her. Someone is holding her hand again. Her eyelids flutter open and there he is, curled up in a chair beside the hospital cot she's on, head resting on the bed beside their clasped hands as he sleeps. She can feel his breath on her fingertips.

And all of a sudden, the thought of Peeta Mellark being dead is unthinkable because here he is, real and solid and breathing and holding her hand. She knows if his eyes opened they would be a bright, perfect blue; she can't fathom never seeing them again.

She wonders what her father would say, the one she saw in her dream. She wonders if she cares.

Katniss squeezes his hand hard. "Peeta." Her voice cracks from disuse; she wonders how long she has been sleeping. "_Peeta._" She sees the lashes that she has always been so secretly fascinated by move against his cheeks.

Then his eyes are open and they are even bluer than she remembers; the world speeds up. He sits up so quickly she smiles a little. And then he is close, his hands cupping her face gently, thumbs tracing the lines of her cheekbones.

"Katniss?" His voice is incredulous; he grabs her hand again and presses soft kisses against her palm. Peeta's eyes look her up and down, drinking her in as if he will never see her again, as if he is unsure whether she is real at all. She wonders if he knows she is thinking the same thing.

"What happened?" she whispers. "Where are we?"

Peeta swallows, looking suddenly serious. "What do you remember?" Her eyes fill with tears at the question. She is silent for a moment, shaking her head, squeezes her eyes shut at the things she has seen lately. He climbs onto the bed beside her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She knows he feels her shaking.

After a long pause, she exhales sharply. "I've been so confused. There was — I remember the sky exploding in the arena. And then…then I was in a white room, and I knew it was the Capitol. They were whispering but I — I can't remember. And then there was a pinch, a shot of something? And then I woke up and I—" She looks up at him, eyes searching. "You won't think I'm crazy?"

He shakes his head reassuringly, holds her tighter. She closes her eyes and whispers the things she saw, a world where he was dead and her father was alive, a dim hovercraft with Haymitch, Prim telling her their games weren't real. She doesn't even realize she is crying until his fingers brush her cheeks.

"Are you real?" The question is barely even audible, but she knows he hears her. Peeta sits up and pulls away from her so he can look at her fully; his expression is unreadable.

"Real," he affirms. And then he bends down, hovering over her, and presses a light kiss to her lips that feels impossibly real. His hair shines like spun gold in the harsh overhead light.

She cries again.

. . .

They sit like that for a long time, silent and wrapped up in each other. A machine beside her beeps every few minutes, but they are undisturbed. On one wall there is a large, rectangular mirror that seems strangely out of place.

"Where are we? What — what _happened_?" Peeta frowns at the question.

"Katniss," he begins cautiously, not quite meeting her eye, "I don't know if now is a good time. You're still—a lot has happened and—"

"Peeta," she says sharply, pulling away. "What happened?"

He slips off the bed, back into the seat beside it, and takes her hand in his. He sighs deeply. "When you shot the arrow at the force field, everything went crazy," he says slowly. "I was so — god, Katniss, I heard you scream and I thought you were dead, and then the whole _world_ exploded. I started running to where I thought you were, but there was a hovercraft and it—" Peeta pulls away from her, putting his head in his hands. "I saw them pick you up, the Capitol. And then this other hovercraft appeared and I let them take me because—" He looks back up at her, blue eyes wet with tears, and she knows. This is real.

She grabs his hand again and squeezes it tightly. "The Capitol—"

Peeta shakes his head. "I thought it was the Capitol, but it was Haymitch. The whole thing, the arena exploding, it was all planned." She sits silently, unbelieving, as he explains about the revolution, District 13, the plan to get her back. She feels suddenly claustrophobic, realizing just how far under the earth she is.

"How long was I—"

"Three weeks," he says softly. "They had you three weeks. And you've been here two days, under observation." She looks back at the mirror and understands.

"It's weird that I only remember that one moment in the Capitol," she muses. "And that — Peeta, I'm not even sure that was real."

He shrugs. "I don't know, Katniss. I guess we should be glad they didn't do anything worse."

Katniss thinks about seeing her father, feeling his hand on her head, the fact that she never went into the Games, and knows Peeta will never understand.

"Does Prim know I'm awake?" Her eyes dart toward the mirror again.

Peeta swallows hard. "Katniss, there's — there's something else you need to know."

. . .

He tries to hold her but she screams, pushes him away, kicks and punches and bites and wails. People rush in, hold her down. Peeta is crying.

A doctor pulls out a needle, injects something in her arm.

Sleep mercifully takes her.

. . .

Mrs. Everdeen finds her staring at the wall, eyes red and swollen and glazed.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save her," her mother whispers, standing near the door. She wrings her hands nervously. Katniss doesn't answer.

After a moment, she walks back out. The door shuts quietly behind her.

. . .

Gale comes to see her, dressed in an official looking uniform. Flinches when she jerks away from his touch. He tells her about 13's militia, about his hopes of defeating the Capitol, about working with Beetee designing weapons. Tells her about the bombs, about how he tried to save Prim. About how he didn't make it in time.

Tells her he's sorry, that he loves her.

He leaves the same way her mother did — quietly, without hearing a word in response.

. . .

She doesn't know how many hours have passed when Peeta comes back in and sits in his chair beside her, taking her hand in his. "I'm so sorry," he whispers ruefully.

Katniss squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. "It's my fault," she gasps, starting to cry again, choking on her words. "If I hadn't—"

He climbs back up beside her and holds her again. She presses her face against his chest and sobs.

She falls asleep like that, in his arms, wondering if this is the price she has to pay, if wanting Peeta is worth losing Prim. If it's wrong to hope this isn't real, that the next time she wakes up will be in 12, to Prim.

* * *

She is trapped between real and not real in her dreams, walking with her father and visiting Prim's grave as bombs fall silently all around them.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Mr. Everdeen tells her softly. "Come back to us, little bird."

And she wants to. More than anything.

* * *

_End part 1._

_Notes:_

This story will roughly be two or three parts long; it is completely outlined and shouldn't take too long to complete. Feel free to follow me on swishywillow on tumblr!


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

When Katniss wakes, she is still, listening to the air around her. Hoping to hear her mother preparing tea, the sound of men trudging to the mines. Instead she hears the metallic clang of a door slamming shut, the beeping machines that tell the doctors she is still alive. Her eyes blink open to harsh, artificial lights unlike anything found in the Seam. District 13.

Real.

The chair beside her bed is empty; Peeta is gone. She tries to sit up to look around for him, but she can't—and all of a sudden she is hyper aware of the straps holding her down, the restraints around her wrists and ankles. Her heartbeat drums fast in her ears. Katniss tries not to scream, tries not to think of the white room she is so starkly reminded of. She licks her lips nervously, her fists balled so tightly she thinks her nails are drawing blood.

"Peeta?" she calls hoarsely, desperately, eyes searching the ceiling. Louder. "_Peeta_?"

She hears the sound of the door opening, footsteps walking closer. Tries not to flinch away. "Don't be alarmed," a mild voice says, approaching her bed. She turns her head and sees a man in a white coat, the only expression on his face curiosity. "You're safe here."

She practically snarls, struggling against the restraints. "Obviously," she snaps.

He smiles benignly, caution in his eyes. And he uses words that scare her — hallucinations, delusions, rehabilitation, restraint. Hijacking. "But we can cure you," he says, the same bland smile on his face. "Make the delusions go away." His name is Dr. Aurelius and she thinks she hates him. She wonders what he would say if she told him she didn't want them to stop, that they didn't seem much like delusions at all.

When she doesn't respond, he tilts his head curiously. "Aren't you excited? To be cured?"

She forces herself to smile, nodding slightly. She thinks she should be. When the doctor leaves she lies back on her bed, staring at the ceiling tiles and wondering what it will be like to never see Prim again.

She waits for Peeta.

. . .

Hundreds of tiles later, the door clicks open and shuts softly; she knows him by the uneven gait. Wonders if he lost his leg in the other world, in the other Games, before he died. "Where were you?" she asks, still looking at the ceiling. He climbs in beside her, pulls her tightly to him. She closes her eyes when he smoothes her hair away from her face, tracing the line of her jaw.

"Meetings," he murmurs. "Always having meetings here. About the rebellion, the Capitol. About you."

"Me?"

He nods, his hold on her tightening. "They want — they want you to help lead it. You mean so much to so many people, they want to use that in their favor."

She buries her face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, shuddering. "How can I lead a rebellion when I'm not even sure it's real?" she whispers against his skin.

He has no answers.

. . . . . .

Her head is heavy, too heavy to lift off the pillow. She keeps her eyes closed, tries to figure out where she is. The bed beneath her, thin and lumpy and covered by rough sheets. The smell of coarse, homemade bread. Prim's voice, chattering away about her day. The sound of cooking at the stove — her mother? And above all else, the clear sound of her father singing.

"_Because when he sings, even the birds stop to listen."_

She still can't open her eyes, _won't_ open her eyes, but she feels the tears escape her lids, sliding from the corner of her eyes and running along her nose. Peeta is dead, Prim is dead, her father is dead. But they're not all dead in the same place. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Not knowing what is real.

Her father's voice draws nearer but she still doesn't open her eyes. Too afraid to see him and love him. His voice drops to a hum as he approaches; gently he places a hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair back. She tries not to shatter.

"Wake up, little bird," he whispers. "We miss you."

Is this real? She can't tell. She keeps her eyes closed until the sound of his song lulls her back to sleep.

. . .

When she wakes up, someone is holding her hand again, large and warm and comforting. Without opening her eyes, she murmurs, "Peeta?"

The grip on her hand tightens noticeably. "Catnip?"

Her eyes blink open quickly. "_Gale_?" And it is Gale, but not the one she saw yesterday, dressed for duty in a utilitarian uniform. This is the Gale she has always known, the one that belongs to her. She can smell the forest on him.

She is still in Twelve. _She is still in Twelve_. Real.

His eyes, so much like hers, are bright. For once he is smiling. "Catnip," he says again, softer, and when she sits up on her bed he pulls her to him tightly. "Are you okay?" His hand moves to the back of her head; she winces when he makes contact. His hands move to frame her face, his eyes searching her.

Everything is moving fast. The look on his face is intense, confusing; when his face moves forward suddenly and his lips press softly against hers she doesn't even have time to protest.

"Gale—"

He takes it as encouragement, kissing her more urgently. When she feels his tongue against the seam of her lips, she pushes him away. He looks just as startled as she is. She scoots back farther on the bed, as close to the window as she can get. For a moment, they just stare at each other.

"You don't remember," he finally says, his voice flat. "Your dad told me things were weird, but — you don't _remember_?"

Katniss licks her lips, looks down at the blanket. "Remember what?" Dreads his answer. Somewhere in another world Peeta is holding her. Real? She doesn't know.

Gale reaches across and grabs her hand again, his thumb rubbing circles across the back, brushing against her knuckles. "Catnip, we — we're — I love you, Katniss. And you love me. Remember?"

She swallows hard at the pain in his voice. "When?"

"God, Katniss." He frowns, pulling away to put his face in his hands. "I didn't want to believe it, I thought you'd remember _us_, at least. It's been—three years ago, after my last reaping I told you I loved you, that I wanted to be with you." He smiles softly, and the look is unfamiliar on his face. "You said 'I know,' and it was — awful," he laughs. "You never wanted to talk about it, you wanted everything to be the same. But then last year, about a week after _your_ last reaping we were just — we were in the woods, and we just caught this huge buck. I was covered in blood, we were waiting for our dads to come and help us carry it back and you just looked at me. And you said, 'I love you too, you know.' And ever since—" He looks back up at her, eyes sharp. "When you woke up, you said something."

She flushes. "I don't remember that."

"It was that dead kid's name, wasn't it?" His frown cuts her. "I don't understand why you're having these delusions about _him_. You never talked to him. You weren't even that upset when he died, Katniss. I don't _understand_."

She reaches out and touches his shoulder lightly. "I don't understand, either. But I'm sure everything will be normal again. Soon."

She's not sure if she's lying.

. . . . . .

When her eyes open to the whiteness of District 13, she is not surprised anymore. Peeta and Haymitch sit in the chairs beside her bed, talking in hushed voices. When she shifts on the bed, they stop; Peeta jumps up and leans in close, his smile familiar and comforting. Alive.

"Any more hallucinations? Did you see your father again?" His blue eyes are filled with concern.

Katniss clasps her hands together tightly, not meeting his eyes. "Oh, uh. Sort of." Before Peeta can ask questions, Haymitch stands up beside him, looks at her with a frown.

"Ready to see more of the District, sweetheart?"

. . .

Thirteen is just as clean and drab as the hospital wing, a series of floors and long hallways that is more confusing than the forest has ever been. The people in the hallways are pale and thin, their expressions serious. When she walks by they give her sideways glances, hedging as far away as they can. As if she is dangerous. She hears the word _hijacked_ floating through the air, the letters unraveling and buzzing around her mind like tracker jackers; she walks closer to Peeta, lets her fingers intertwine with his. He is real, this world is real. Real, real, real.

They take stairs and elevators, descending ever down into the earth. And then there is a door. And then there is a room.

Peeta and Gale mentioned the President, her harsh efficiency, her rigid planning. They didn't mention her cold eyes, the hair that falls like a sheet of silver, completely unbroken, the thin purse of her lips, the permanent crease between her eyebrows. Alma Coin. Katniss shivers when their eyes meet.

"Miss Everdeen," Coin says brusquely , looking her up and down. Her mouth twitches into a cool smile. "Are you recovering well?" Gestures to the chairs in front of her desk.

Katniss drops down, sitting on the edge of her seat. Uncomfortably reminded of her meeting with Snow in her home. She shrugs. "As well as you'd expect, I guess."

Coin leans further across her desk, smile dropping. "I expect better, actually." She ignores Haymitch and Peeta who frame her like bodyguards; her eyes are like lingering snow, dirty gray and frigid. "We used a good deal of our resources on you, Miss Everdeen," she continues, leaning back in her seat. "Rescuing you from the Capitol so quickly wasn't easy."

Katniss freezes; Haymitch is glowering, Peeta's hands are clenched tightly into fists. "I'm very grateful," she says slowly. Trying to understand where this is going.

Coin nods, the smile making its way back to her face. "Good. You should be."

. . .

When the meeting is over, Haymitch leads Katniss by the elbow with Peeta walking quickly behind to a closet filled with pipes several floors up; the room is warm and humid. "How you feeling, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle. They both stare at her as though she might collapse at any moment, screaming for her father. She sags against the wall, shaking. Tries to make sense of the meeting that just happened.

The Mockingjay. The symbol of the rebellion. The sketches from Cinna she just saw — _Cinna_. Dragged bleeding from the room before the Quell began, who planned this for her all along. His work beautiful, designed to make her stand out as always.

In the meeting, Coin had ruthlessly tossed out names of those that Katniss owed. Mags. Cinna. Rue. The man shot in Eleven, every tribute who has ever stepped into an arena. Prim. Dead because of the Capitol.

"I guess — I guess I don't really have a choice," she says, slumping down to the floor, cradling her head in her hands.

"We can figure something else out," Peeta says, crouching beside her. She is filled with a sudden rush of affection for him, a sudden thankfulness that he is here, alive, that she has him.

"I can do it," she tells him. Tries to smile bravely, tries not to hope that this will all be gone when she wakes up tomorrow.

. . .

The flight to the ruins of District 12 is silent; Katniss holds tightly to Peeta's hand, ignoring Gale and the camera team sitting across from her, trying not to listen to the hushed whispers of Haymitch and Plutarch. She reminds herself that there is a place somewhere, where Twelve still stands and its people still live. Tries not to remind herself that place is probably a lie.

Nothing prepares her for what she sees, not the scripts she's read or the lines she's run. Nothing prepares her for the smell of death in the air, the ash of dead bodies under her feet. The mines are sunken in, still smoldering. She watches as Gale stares, fists clenched. The anger on his face could launch bombs of his very own.

When she breathes, ash fills her lungs, her veins, her everything. These are the people she killed. These are the lives she ruined.

She falls to the ground.

. . . . . .

She wakes up crying with the sun shining gently through the dirty window; Prim is curled up beside her, breathing softly. The roof above her is sturdy and intact; she looks out the window. There is no ash or death, just the Seam she never knew she loved so much.

She exhales quietly, clutching Prim tightly to her. She can feel Prim, smell her little girl smell, feel the mattress creak underneath her that they've been sharing since Prim was out of the crib. She can look out the window and see the Seam, see the worn, rutted dirt road, see a small corner of the meadow. If she walks into town she can see the Hob, trade with Greasy Sae, stopping to sell Madge strawberries on the way back.

This is real. It feels real. It needs to be real.

She wants this to be real.

She thinks about the way Peeta loves her, about the gray, lifeless district far beneath the earth. About a couple of scarred, bitter seventeen year olds being asked to lead a revolution. Which seems more real?

She holds Prim a little tighter.

. . .


End file.
